


Games

by canary



Series: Houses [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:15:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canary/pseuds/canary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scorpius Malfoy's summer holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Games

**Author's Note:**

> This follows [Houses](http://archiveofourown.org/works/412816/chapters/685335). It probably won't make a ton of sense if you haven't read that already, but you are (obviously) more than welcome to read it as a stand-alone.

July 5  
Scorp,  
That bloody bint's still here. If you don't get yourself up to Ottery St. Catchpole in the next two days, I won't be responsible for what happens.  
  
  
Scorpius crumpled up James's note and threw it into the fireplace, immolating it with a flick of his wand, although he regretted it as soon as the parchment had disappeared into a smudge of ash.

"Twinky," he called.

"Yes, Master?" she chirped, appearing at his elbow with her typical pop.

"Do you think Mother would notice if I--left?"

Twinky frowned, and pulled at one of her long ears. "Master shouldn't be asking such things."

"Oh, don't pull that with me."

Twinky heaved a sigh, as if she was the most put-upon house-elf on the continent. "Well, as Twinky overheard Mistress Cosima telling Mistress Crocifissa that she looked forward to spending a week with her thestrals after she leaves Mistress's lake house, Twinky would not guess that Mistress Cosima will be in Rome any time soon."

"Thanks, Twinky."

Twinky tugged at an ear again, the other one this time. "Perhaps Master Scorpius is considering visiting Master Malfoy?"

"Yeah, that's it," Scorpius lied. "Thought I might pop 'round the Manor."

Twinky narrowed her large brown eyes. "Master Scorpius should not be telling such tales."

"Well--" Scorpius stopped. "Are you going to tell Mother?"

The elf turned around and began busily dusting the ashes of James's letter off the hearth. "Twinky does not see why she would need to tell Mistress Cosima that Master Scorpius has gone to Master Malfoy."

"You're the greatest," Scorpius said, and meant it. "I'll be heading to Wiltshire tomorrow, then, if you'd pack my case."

Twinky nodded, and vanished with her dustpan full of ashes.

Scorpius turned to the window by his desk, and opened it. He leaned his forearms on the hip-height metal grate in front of the window. It was punishingly hot in Rome already, dulling the colors of the shop windows on Via del Corso, and muffling the noises of the crowds. At this hour--just past noon--the street was full of stopped cars, the sidewalks packed with dehydrated tourists. He watched an Asian couple walk through the Gallery's front doors, toting a baby in what looked like a backpack. Muggles and their ways.

When the heat from the window got to be too much to bear, Scorpius bolted it shut, and went to the fireplace. He conjured a fire and threw a handful of Floo powder on it.

"Al Potter," he said. "The Potter House, Ottery St. Catchpole." He took a deep breath and put his face into the green flames.

It came out in a white-washed kitchen, with wide-open doors and windows. Lily Potter was at the sink, with her back to him.

"Excuse me, Lily?"

She jumped, and whirled to face the fireplace. "Merlin, you gave me a fright."

Scorpius shrugged. "Al around?"

"He's off with Bridget somewhere," she said, the distaste in her voice plain as she knelt on the hearth. "Haven't seen him since breakfast."

"Oh."

"Whozzat, Lils?" a familiar voice asked.

Scorpius took a deep breath. "Hello, James."

James joined his younger sister on the hearth. "Well, if it isn't everyone's favorite Malfoy."

"The only Malfoy," Lily pointed out. "Or practically, anyway."

"Yes, well," Scorpius said, trying very hard not to look at James, who he had not seen since King's Cross, "I was wondering if Al still thought I might be able to come 'round for a few days."

Despite the fact that he was Not Looking At James, Scorpius still saw the way his mouth quirked up to the side when he said it.

"S'not up to Al," Lily pointed out. "I'll go ask Mum, shall I? She's just in the study."

"Thanks," Scorpius said. She left, which left him alone with James. They stared at each other for a minute. Scorpius didn't know what to say.

"You get the letter?" James asked, finally.

Scorpius nodded.

"Had a bitch of a time sending it out," James said. "Had to send Eagle off towards Ira's first. Someone should really come up with a better way to communicate."

"There's this."

James shrugged. "Yeah, but it's so bloody hard on the knees." He looked over his shoulder. "Mum, are you really going to let him come?" he asked Mrs. Potter, who joined him in the fireplace.

Scorpius rolled his eyes. "Hello, Mrs. Potter."

"Hello, Scorpius, have you had a nice holiday so far?" she asked, pushing her red hair off of her face.

"Yes," Scorpius lied, "it's been lovely."

"You're more than welcome to come by whenever you like," she said. "The more the merrier. Bridget's here too, as I'm sure you've heard."

And that was, more or less, that.  
  


The next day, Scorpius unlocked his father's study and prowled inside. There was a cabinet behind his desk, which held a stock of pre-made Portkeys, set to go between the Gallery and Malfoy Manor. It was locked, with a harder charm than had secured the door, but it only took Scorpius a few minutes to get it open, which it did with a popping noise and a puff of green smoke.

Scorpius selected an empty wine bottle, then re-charmed the cabinet closed. Fingers closed around the neck of the bottle, he surveyed the room. The house-elves were too diligent to let dust settle on any surfaces, but it was clear that the room was unused--there were no papers on the surface of the desk, no photographs, nothing personal, except for an old-fashioned quill made from the tail feather of a Manor peacock.

A portrait of his grandparents Malfoy stared down at him from over the fireplace. "What are you doing?" his Grandmother Narcissa asked, when she saw him looking. Her voice was low and musical.

"Leaving," Scorpius said.

"Do stay," she said. "Lucius and I get so lonely, now that Draco's gone."

"Can't."

She had his father's eyes, wide and gray, and she looked enough like her husband to be his sister.

"Who are you?" Grandfather Lucius asked. "Going through Draco's things like a common thief."

Scorpius chewed on the inside of his lip. "His son," he said. "Scorpius."

"Little Scorpius?" Narcissa breathed. "The last time I saw you, you weren't old enough for Hogwarts."

 "I'm going into my fifth year this fall."

Lucius gave him a speculative look. "Slytherin, I presume."

"No, I--" Scorpius stopped, wondering how long it had been since his father had been in this room, that the portrait didn't even know he was in Gryffindor. "I'm in Gryffindor. And I must be going."

He didn't listen to whatever Lucius said next, and ducked out of the room, heart pounding in his chest. It shouldn't come as a surprise to him. He knew that his parents didn't speak, he knew that they lived completely separate lives. But it was little things that drove it home.

Wine bottle in hand, he padded back to his room. Setting the time on the Portkey was the work of a minute.

"Twinky," he called. "My case, please."

"Here it is, Master." She proffered it. "If you need help, call Twinky, and Twinky will help."

"Thanks." He took the case, then touched his fingertip to the neck of the wine bottle. The world spun and yanked, and deposited him outside the gates of Malfoy Manor.

Scorpius threw the bottle behind a hedge and began walking. Once he'd got past the hedges that delineated the edge of Malfoy Manor's grounds, he swished his wand through the air, then jumped back as the Knight Bus roared to a stop, three inches from his toes.

"Ottery St. Catchpole, please," he said to the driver, a sleepy Rastafarian with long dreadlocks that looked like they were tied off with tiny snakes.

"No problem, man," the Rasta said. "Eight Sickles. Too hot for hot chocolate, am I right?"

Scorpius paid, and then took a seat on a bed at the front of the bus. The Knight Bus leapt into motion.  


  
After his father had picked him up from Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Scorpius had spent two weeks at the Manor, wandering around the grounds and sticking the peacocks' beaks shut. He'd climbed his old tree and sat there, legs dangling into the air, watching the tops of the trees move in the wind, and listening to the whistle of songbirds. When he got bored, he charmed them to fly in formation, spinning their flocks through the air like long dark ribbons.

At night, he read in the library, old books that smelled like blood and earth. He learned things that he wished he hadn't--spells to turn witches inside out while they were still alive, spells to cause the heart of a wizard to burst, spells to Petrify and spells to summon Dark creatures.

When he couldn't take it anymore he would return to his blue-papered room, and write to Al about how glad he was to be on holiday.

His father was in and out. They encountered each other at breakfast, or at dinner. His father made a few, abortive, efforts to talk to him about Quidditch and Charms class, but stopped when Scorpius answered in monosyllables.

"Would you be happier in Rome?" his father finally asked him, one silent Wednesday night.

A peacock screamed outside the dining room window, and Scorpius waited for it to quiet before he answered, "Not noticeably." But he went anyway.

Rome was not particularly different, except that the he stopped reading so many books at night, since he could talk to the paintings instead. Paris was glad to see him, and Scorpius was glad to sit cross-legged on the floor in front of him, and try to interpret the Muggle conversations that he hadn't understood during the day. Somewhat to his surprise, Muggle Studies helped him with this, which made Paris laugh and Scorpius smile ruefully towards the parquet floor.

"We're going to the lake," his mother said, at breakfast one day.

"I'm not," Scorpius said, very calmly, not looking up from the Daily Prophet.

"You are," she responded.

Scorpius put down the paper, and looked her straight in the eye. They had the same eyes--dark blue, like skies at night, although he thought his mother's must be colder. "How," he asked, "are you going to make me?"

She frowned, drawing a line across her impeccably smooth forehead. "Don't be unseemly."

"I will be how I like."

"Please do not force me into doing something--unpleasant."

"I would like to see you try," Scorpius said, straight into her frigid face. Her eyes flicked from him, to the wand sitting by his elbow, and she frowned again, but went back to her periodical on thestral breeding, and a week later she was gone. It felt, in the moment, like a victory, but later Scorpius was afraid of the price she'd charge him for it.  


  
Scorpius got off the Knight Bus in the main square of Ottery St. Catchpole. There was a little sand-colored church, a tea shop, grocery, post office, and not much else.

"Scorp!" Al crowed, bounding up out of nowhere and sweeping him into a hug.

"Don't call me that," Scorpius said reflexively.

"Scorpius, so glad you could finally make it," Mrs. Potter said, appearing behind her son. She had a net bag full of vegetables hanging from one wrist. Scorpius shook her free hand, not knowing what else to do. They'd met a few times, at Platform Nine and Three Quarters, but he hadn't the faintest clue to act around the parents of his friends (and not-boyfriends). She glanced from him to Al. "I'll let you two head back, shall I? Just need to stop by the butcher's."

"Mum's decided she wants to start shopping the Muggle way," Al said, when she'd left. "Dunno why."

"Where's Bridget?"

"She's in Diagon Alley with Lils and Molly and Uncle Percy." Al wrinkled his nose. "Poor girls. He wanted to show them a firsthand view of the Ministry, can you believe it?"

"I'm surprised they went."

Al sighed. "Well, Bridget wants to go into the Ministry when we graduate, so I suppose it makes sense."

"Not particularly."

"You're right. Shall we?" Al asked, nodding up the road. "It's just ten minutes or so of walking."

Scorpius picked up his case. "So things are going well with you two?"

"Yeah, lovely," Al said, "really lovely."

It sounded like he meant it. Scorpius couldn't help smiling, which felt like a foreign expression, after all the time he'd been spending alone. He nudged Al in the shoulder. "Glad to hear it."

  
  
The Potter House was a tidily-whitewashed structure, set back from the road to Ottery St. Catchpole, and obscured behind a blossoming hedge. Al said the thatched roof had gotten infested with doxies over the winter, and that the Potter parents were making them clear them out, of course without magic.

"Anything to keep all the cousins occupied, I think," Al explained. "Wouldn't be all that surprised if Dad had planted them."

"How unpleasant."

"Pleasanter than Louis and Hugo trying to knock each other's teeth out."

"I guess."

Al opened the front door--which was painted bright red, and had a golden door-knocker in the shape of a sphinx, which tried to get Al to solve a riddle until he rolled his eyes and twisted the knob--and ushered him through, then upstairs into his room. Someone had set up an inflatable mattress in a corner, with a set of sheets folded on top of it. Scorpius dropped his case next to it, as Al flopped onto his own bed with a sigh.

"Surprised it's so quiet, dunno where everyone is," he said.

Scorpius walked over to Al's window, wondering if he would see the same view of back garden and river that he had from James's, in the Room of Requirement; but Al's looked out over the front. As he watched, Mrs. Potter stepped through the gate, and walked up the front path.

"So what do you want to do?" Al asked.

"I don't know, really." Scorpius sat down on the bed next to him. "What do you usually do?"

Al shrugged. "Quidditch with the cousins, maybe go over to the Burrow, chase the damned doxies. Swimming, sometimes. Try to get Bridget alone, as Mum's been on us like a niffler on a Galleon."

Scorpius patted Al's knee. "That must be very trying."

Al kicked at him, as a small, red-headed body that might or might not belong to Lucy Weasley poked its head around the door. "Grandma wants everyone at the Burrow to catch gnomes. Hello, Malfoy."

The rest of the day passed in a blur of Weasleys, red hair, and mud. James was conspicuous in his absence, and Scorpius didn't ask about him more than once, as Al gave him a funny look when he did. They had dinner at long tables in the Weasley garden, and Scorpius was happy to sit quietly, letting the conversation flow around him.

"Wasn't too weird, was it?" Al asked, when they were walking back to the Potter House. (Quite quickly, as Bridget and Lily had returned from the Ministry.)

"Not at all. Not like I didn't know everyone."

"True. Still, Gran can be a bit--much."

"She was fine," he said, although to be honest, Mrs. Weasley had given him one look as though she wanted to Vanish him, and then ignored him for the rest of the evening. Which was all right with Scorpius.

They came in through the back garden, next to the river and under the pixie lights that Scorpius remembered from the Room. He could see Bridget and Lily through the window, sitting at the Potters' large kitchen table, laughing with each other over something; and he noticed Al's sudden smile as well.

"She's bloody gorgeous, isn't she?" he said, in the tone of wonder and amazement that he still used whenever discussing the fact that Bridget Legat was his girl.

"She has very shiny hair," said Scorpius, who thought that Bridget should be a bit fuller of wonder and amazement that she was going with Al Potter, his best mate who was a brilliant Seeker and all-around wonderful person, not to mention who had started growing into his oversized elbows and knees.

Al shoved him and pushed the kitchen door open. "Hullo Lils, Mum, Dad," he chirped, making a beeline for Bridget's cheek.  
 

"Hello, Mr. Potter," Scorpius said. The Savior of the Wizarding World looked tired, leaning against the kitchen counter with a bottle of War's Locke Amber. He raised the bottle in Scorpius's direction and welcomed him to Ottery St. Catchpole.

Scorpius sat with Al, Bridget, and Lily for a bit, until he and Lily got tired of watching Al and Bridget make cow eyes at each other, and went outside to skip rocks across the tranquil surface of the Otter. Scorpius got up to six skips, but Lily never went above three.

"You're good at that," she said, chucking her final rock out over the water as hard as she could. It landed with a far-off splash.

Scorpius shrugged. "I practice."

"You practice skipping rocks?"

"If you're going to do something, do it as well as you can," he said by way of answer, sitting down on the grass.

"You should have been in Ravenclaw with Brilliant Bridgey." Lily flopped down next to him in a sprawl of legs and arms. She was, Scorpius noticed, wearing quite a short dress, a blue one spangled all over with white stars. He thought that she'd be getting plenty of admirers at Hogwarts the next year, with her nimbus of red curls and wicked hazel eyes. "Maybe then they could win the Quidditch Cup. You have to feel at least a little bad for them."

"Not really. They lost." Scorpius rolled a river stone between his fingers, then let it fly over the water. Four skips.

"But they try so hard, and you lions still win every year."

Scorpius snorted. "What are you trying to do, get me to go easy on them so your lot can fly off with the Cup?"

Lily grinned and tossed her hair. "Maybe."

"Oi," a familiar voice barked from behind them, "budge off, rat."

Scorpius felt his stomach turn over, as Lily rolled her eyes. "James, we were having a nice talk."

James reached down and towed his little sister to her feet. "I said to budge off."

"Fine. I'll leave you and your _boyfriend_ alone," she drawled, flipping her hair over her shoulder and flouncing off for the house.

"Little twat," James said, watching her go.

"Don't say that about your own sister."

"You say worse about your cousin."

"Sit, if you're going to," Scorpius told him, directing himself at James's left kneecap. "My neck hurts."

James, surprisingly enough, obeyed. His sprawl put Lily's to shame, but then he was about a foot taller, and completely unconcerned about invading Scorpius's personal space. "I like your hair," he said.

Scorpius shrugged. He'd never gotten it cut, after school let out, so it was almost down to his shoulders now. James reached up and ran his fingers through it, knuckles brushing against the back of his neck.

"Much longer and you'll have to put it in a ponytail," he said.

"I guess," Scorpius answered, watching James out of the corner of his eye.

James got a firmer grip on his hair, then yanked, and Scorpius fell on top of him with a muffled yelp. He would have used Al's Kelp Nose Curse, except he couldn't use magic here, so he somehow began kissing James instead. It felt good, with James biting his lower lip and his hands going up inside Scorpius's t-shirt.

"Hey so," James said into the shell of his ear, "this probably isn't the place."

"Probably not." He shivered when James licked his ear.

"As you can kind of see it from the kitchen window, and Lily's is a suspicious nature."

"So's Al's," Scorpius admitted, climbing off of James, and running a hand through his hair. He hit a tangle and carefully pulled it apart.

James kissed his cheek, which was weird, then stood and offered him a hand up. "Do I look blatantly snogged?"

"Yes, but I can't do anything about it."

"Blasted Trace. You do as well. Look well snogged, I mean."

Scorpius elbowed him. "You're awful."

They bickered all the way back to the house, where Lily made faces at them in the kitchen behind the parent Potters' backs. Bridget had her feet in Al's lap, on the living room sofa. Scorpius rolled his eyes, and went upstairs to shower. James caught him in the hallway after he was done, to kiss him breathless and leave thumbprints on his bare hips, but then there were feet on the stairs so Scorpius ducked into Al's room.

Scorpius was still awake when Al slipped in. His hair was rumpled and he had a dazed, just-kissed look.

"Good night?" Scorpius asked archly, grateful that he wasn't the one getting interrogated about his nocturnal activities, for a change.

Al kicked his air mattress and stripped. "Good enough, yeah," he said, around a grin that glinted white in the darkness. Scorpius heard the thump as he flopped down on his bed. After a while, he fell asleep.

  
  
  
Scorpius woke up early the next morning, to go flying. There was no one in the kitchen, so he poured a glass of (inferior, English) orange juice, gulped it down, and slipped out the back door. The Potters' broom shed was out in the garden, a leaning, dilapidated structure twined in ivy and morning glory. Scorpius touched the lips of a purple flower. They felt soft, satiny.

He pulled the door open, found Al's Firebolt 4, and then kicked off. It handled differently than his Lightning Rod--faster acceleration, but slower on the turns. A Seeker's broom.

Scorpius turned loops above the house, watching for doxies in the thatch, and then drifted out over the river, sinking so low that his bare toes skimmed its surface. A heron took flight out from underneath a willow in front of him, and he smiled as he watched its gray-blue wings cut through the air.

He thought that this was what visiting his aunt's villa should be. The River Otter certainly had nothing on Lake Como, with its brightly-painted boats nodding across the water, and the mirror image of the mountain spreading across it. And yet, he had never felt even half as content there as he did here, barefoot on a broomstick, engaging in a spot of bird-watching, for Merlin's sake, as if he were as dotty as a three hundred-year-old Quibbler reader.

"Scorp!" Al called from the bank. "Mum says to come get breakfast if you want it!"

Scorpius, reluctantly, turned the Firebolt back towards Al, and landed. The grass was cool and dewy under his toes, although it was shaping up to be a scorcher.

"She even bought you coffee," Al said, taking the broom.

Scorpius grinned. "I could like your mum."

At breakfast, Scorpius sipped coffee and nibbled on toast, and looked meek when Mrs. Potter told him not to leave dirty glasses in the sink.

"Welcome to the family," James snarked, reaching over Scorpius to grab a sausage. He was still shirtless, and smelled like sleep. "Quidditch at ten with the cousins. Should you and the prodigious Seeker choose to join us."

"We'll be there," Al grumbled. "And I was wondering why you'd got up before noon, anyway."

"Wish I could join you," Mr. Potter said from across the table. He rested his chin in his hand, with a slightly wistful smile. He was already in his red Auror robes.

"We could play later," Al offered, but Mr. Potter shook his head.

"Don't wait on this old man."

"Kay, we won't," James said. He elbowed Lily. "Are you playing?"

She looked down her nose at him. "I'd rather die."

"Fantastic, as I'd rather die than have you on my team."

"James," Mrs. Potter said in a warning tone.

"Please, Mum," Lily said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You haven't a clue all the things he says at school. That's really tame, that is."

Across the table, Bridget looked uncomfortable, staring down at her cup of tea and twining a strand of long, honey-colored hair around one slim finger. Al patted her other hand. Scorpius rolled his eyes, discretely, and finished his coffee.  
  


They spent the rest of the morning playing Quidditch, above the orchard next to the Burrow. He and Al were on the same side, and, to Scorpius's surprise, James let one of the Scamanders play Seeker--Lorcan, he thought, although he could never really tell them apart--for his. Bridget, Lily, and Rose sat on the ground underneath them.

After Quidditch, they went to the Burrow for lunch, Al and Bridget dawdling at the back of the group. Scorpius found himself next to Lily again, as James was up ahead, yelling at Louis for something or other.

"I'm so glad I'm not in Gryffindor," she told him.

"Really?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Don't you think I get enough of this chaos over hols?"

"It does seem--" Scorpius searched for a word.

"Like bleeding madness?"

"--busy," he said.

She snorted. "Al always says you're polite."

"Really?" he said again.

"I like Slytherin ever so much more," she continued. "It's peaceful, down in the dungeons, and no one's ever shouting, and it's lovely to look out and see the lake."

"That would provide a pleasant respite."

"Dunno how you lot stand it, with the terrible three underfoot."

"Well," Scorpius said, "they're small, so I don't really pay them much mind."

Lily snorted. "Don't let them hear you say that, or they'll find a way to make you. And then there's Jamesy."

Then they were at the long tables in the Burrow's garden, before Scorpius had to formulate a comment about James, and Mrs. Weasley was flying plates of thick ham sandwiches out towards them. Scorpius found himself sitting next to Lily again, which he didn't mind--he had decided, on the walk back up from the orchard, that he quite liked her. She was sharp and funny, very different from the rest of her family.  
  


When Scorpius got back to the Potter house, he found a torn-off piece of parchment in the back pocket of his chinos. The back of the garden, it read. Midnight, in James's scrawling handwriting.

He shoved it deep inside his case, inside a pair of socks, where no one would see it.  
  


A few minutes before twelve, Scorpius eased off of his air mattress, and through Al's door. Al made a sleepy noise, so he said "Bathroom," and shut the door.

He padded down the creaky stairs, barefoot, in his pajama bottoms, through the kitchen, and across the garden. There was a willow tree at the back of the garden, and he sat down underneath it, listening to the quiet sounds of the water until he heard a footstep behind him.

"Come on," James said.

He rose, and followed James down the path to the Burrow. James was in jeans and a t-shirt, so even though the night air was warm against his skin, Scorpius crossed his arms over his chest. He should have dressed as well, although he didn't know how he would have managed it with Al.

James stepped off the path, onto a narrow track that Scorpius hadn't noticed before. It cut back towards the river, through a thick copse of trees that blocked the view from the house. James stripped off his shirt, then his jeans--he wasn't wearing anything underneath them--and dove into the water, not looking at Scorpius at all. Scorpius watched him duck his dark hair back under the surface. In the darkness, he couldn't see the red highlights, but he knew they were there.

"Aren't you coming?" James asked, looking over his shoulder. There was the barest sliver of a crescent moon to light the lines of his torso.

Scorpius kicked off his pajamas and followed James into the river. It was cold, and he hissed as the muddy water closed freezing hands around his ankles, then his knees and hips. He stepped in deeper, until he and James were chest to chest. He could barely see anything, so instead of trying he leaned up and brushed his mouth against James's mouth.

They kissed for a while, slow and careful, not touching anywhere else. Then James's hands were on his hips, and Scorpius was trembling, and then James was dunking him under the water.

Scorpius yelped and fought his way back up.

"Ssh, ssh," James whispered, and Scorpius didn't need to see to know how his hazel eyes were dancing, "we've got to be quiet."

Scorpius tackled him backwards. They rolled around in the water, which no longer seemed cold at all, wrestling and splashing and kicking, until James picked him up, and Scorpius's legs went around his waist, and they were kissing and clawing at each other. James slipped on a rock and dropped him once, on the way back to the bank, which made Scorpius laugh and James swat his arse, but then Scorpius's back was on the grass, toes still in the water, with James fumbling for a vial in his clothes then easing a finger inside of him, and it was muddy and messy and perfect.

"I've been thinking about that," Scorpius admitted into James's chest.

"Have you?" James was winding and unwinding Scorpius's wet hair through his fingers.

"Haven't you?"

James chuckled, chest moving underneath Scorpius's cheek. "Once or twice."

"That all?" Scorpius closed his eyes.

"Maybe three times."

"Okay."

They lay there in the dark. Scorpius rolled onto his back and looked up at the stars, fringed by a half-circle of leaves. James edged his fingers down his arm, over his wrist and against his palm, and then knit their hands together. Scorpius didn't look at him, because he was afraid to do anything that might ruin it.  
  


When he woke up in the morning on Al's air mattress, Scorpius thought it must have been a dream, that he and James had held hands on the riverbank and crept back through the house, and that James had kissed him outside of Al's door. But when he kicked off the sheet, there was a smudge of mud on the inside of his ankle.

James didn't show up for breakfast. Al and Bridget said they were going for a walk (which meant they might kiss) (maybe), Lily said she was headed for the Scamanders', Mr. Potter left for work, and Mrs. Potter had to Apparate to Holyhead, for a press day at the Harpies' training camp.

And so, unexpectedly, Scorpius had the house to himself. He lay on the large leather couch in the living room for a while, trying to read one of Mr. Potter's books on Defense, but eventually he gave up and just lay there, rubbing the muddy smudge off with the big toe of his other foot. When he got tired of that, he put the book back where he'd found it, then padded upstairs, and eased James's door open.

His room looked exactly like it had in the Room of Requirement, except messier: the blue coverlet was kicked halfway to the floor; the desk was piled with what passed for class notes, in James Potter's world; and the clothes that he'd worn to the river the night before were heaped in the middle of the floor. He'd left the curtains open, so Scorpius could see the river and a swatch of the back garden.

James himself was in bed, lying on his stomach with one arm dangling over the edge of the bed so that his fingers almost brushed the floor.

Scorpius didn't give himself time to think about it, before he stripped and climbed into bed. James jerked awake, almost hitting him, but then his eyes softened, and they had more really excellent sex.

"I could get used to waking up like that," James said.

Scorpius's stomach turned over, but he didn't say anything. James sat up. He caught his hand, tugged him to the bathroom, where they climbed into the eagle-clawed tub to shower. Then they went downstairs. Scorpius sat on the kitchen counter, banging his heels against the cupboard doors, while James rummaged around for breakfast. It felt easy and companionable in the morning sunlight, with James setting a kettle to boil his infernal Darjeeling, and throwing Pygmy Puffios out of the cereal box at his forehead. Scorpius swatted them all back; James managed to catch one in his mouth, and they laughed.

When Al and Bridget got back to the house, they were in the living room. James had fallen asleep again, feet in Scorpius's lap, while Scorpius was making a more earnest effort at A Practicum in Defense Against Artes Most Darke.

He broke off reading Kingsley Shacklebolt's introduction to the four hundred and forty-seventh edition, to shove James's feet off. James made a quizzical noise, kicked him, and went back to sleep.

"Have a nice walk?" Scorpius called towards the kitchen.

"Lovely," Al answered. "Ugh, are you really studying right now?"

"It's not on the book list, so I can't be studying." Scorpius shut A Practicum and twisted around to face the kitchen.

"You should have been in Ravenclaw," Bridget said, in her quiet pretty girl voice.

"You're just jealous cause Scorp or a Hufflepuff are beating your lot in every class," James announced, rising from the deep depths of the sofa. He had a red mark from the throw pillow on the side of his face, which made him look a bit demented.

"Don't call me Scorp."

James rolled his eyes. "Anyone fancy a swim?"

"Not with you," Al snapped.

"I'll go," Scorpius said, as so much time spent naked with James had evidently made him go quite mad.

"Fine then." Al looked a bit hurt. Scorpius shrugged it off, following James upstairs to get his swimming trunks. When they went back downstairs, Bridget was sitting on Al's lap and they were giggling about something together.

"Revolting," James said, before the kitchen door had quite closed behind them. He shoved a fluffy red towel at Scorpius. It had a picture of a large Gryffindor lion on it, which roared silently when it saw Scorpius looking.

"They are, a bit."

"I honestly don't know what he sees in her."

"Her nice hair," Scorpius said. "And they talk about Astronomy."

"Astronomy, right." James rolled his eyes. "She hasn't said a word to me the whole bloody time she's been here, you know that? She just blinks at me like a bloody owl. Dad doesn't like her either."

"Really?"

"Well, he didn't say it flat out, but he--I dunno. You can tell if you know him."

"Oh." Scorpius tried to imagine knowing Harry Potter, and failed. It wasn't that Mr. Potter was unfriendly, it was just that he always seemed so tired, so careworn; as if there was something that held him at an unreachable distance.

"He likes you, though."

"I like him, too," Scorpius said, absurdly flattered. "He's very--human."

"Well, what did you think he was then?" James snorted. "A question on one of Binnsy's exams?"

"A bit, yeah."

By then they'd reached the swimming hole. James dove in, and again Scorpius followed at a more leisurely pace. Dragonflies were buzzing across the surface of the green water. Watching James swim out to the center of the river, Scorpius couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so-- nice.

He retreated to the bank, and sat on the lion towel. James appeared to be doing laps. Scorpius enjoyed watching the flex and pull of the muscles in his back. Finally he climbed out of the water, shaking water out of his hair, and collapsed on his own towel. There were a few freckles speckled across his shoulders, which Scorpius had never noticed before.

"Only come out in the summer," James said into his crossed forearms. "'S the Weasley blood."

"At least you're not a ginger." Scorpius traced a pattern through the freckles.

"There's that." James peered up at him with one eye. "Would you still shag me if I was a ginger?"

"Probably not."

James swatted his leg. "Wanker."

"You'd look so plebian," Scorpius intoned, trying to keep away the smile that was tugging at his lips. "Can't have the Malfoy heir cavorting with the hoi polloi."

"Oi. I'm very nearly a pureblood, I'll have you know."

"You're still a mongrel," Scorpius said, giving up the battle with the smile. "But as you're not a ginger, I'll overlook it."

"Thanks ever so." James smiled back, and then winced. "You know we're being vile right now, don't you?"

"Quite." Scorpius leaned down to kiss him between his shoulder blades, but just as his lips brushed the damp skin of James's back, there were footsteps on the path, heralding the arrival of the Weasley-Granger branch of the family. Scorpius sat up, perhaps not as quickly as he should have, since Rose gave him an odd look.

"Where's everyone else?" Hugo asked, oblivious. He shook out his own Gryffindor towel next to James.

"Al and the bint are snogging back at the house," James said flatly.

Hugo made a face. "Gross."

Rose heaved a sigh and shucked off her dress. She was wearing a purple bikini underneath it. When she saw Scorpius looking at her, she glared. He restrained the urge to roll his eyes: if he had any interest in girls, they certainly wouldn't be ones like Rose. It looked as though you could smother a baby crup between her breasts.

"Hugo, are you coming?" she asked.

"Sure." He waved to Scorpius and James, then followed her into the water.

"The sweetest of all the cousins," James said.

Scorpius elbowed him. "She can hear you, you prat."

"I should care because?"

"She's family."

James groaned. "Merlin, if I tried to be nice to every member of my family I'd be mad as a Lestrange."

"You know I'm related to them," Scorpius pointed out.

"Oh, shut up, you're nothing like that lot." James lay back down and shut his eyes. Scorpius, suddenly feeling cold and alone, there on the sunlit bank, wondered if he really thought it was as simple as that.

"I'm going back to the house," he said, climbing to his feet.

"Suit yourself," James said into the ground.

Scorpius picked up his towel, called goodbye to Hugo, and started down the path. He felt sick. He should never have let himself forget--everything that made him different from James, or Al, or Rose, or anyone. He thought of all the things he'd read in the Malfoy library, and the hash marks on the cellar walls, and shuddered.

He was almost to the willow tree when James caught him.

"What?" he snapped, turning.

James glared at him. "You know I didn't mean all that rot I said at school."

"I dunno, you say a lot of rot."

"I meant all the stuff about your family. You know, your dad, Death Eaters, all that."

"My dad was a Death Eater actually, or do you not read the papers," Scorpius said, wondering why they were having this conversation.

James rubbed at his eyes. "I know, all right? But you know you're really--not like that."

"You don't know what I'm like," Scorpius hissed at him.

"I know enough," James shot back. If they'd been at school, Scorpius would have cursed him, but he couldn't use magic here; so he turned on his heel and stalked back to the house instead. James didn't follow him.  
  


"Are you all right?" Al asked him that night, when they were lying in the dark of his bedroom. James hadn't shown up for dinner.

"I'm fine."

"You've seemed so..." Al paused, as if he was trying to choose his words. "So happy since you got here."

Scorpius nodded, not particularly caring if Al could see it in the dark or not

"But tonight it's like--"

"I really don't want to talk about it."  
   

There was a long stretch of quiet. Scorpius stared up at Al's white plaster ceiling.

"You know you can talk to me about whatever it is," Al finally said. "Whoever it is. And I won't mind."

"I know." Scorpius paused, then added "I don't deserve you," before he could stop himself.

"Probably not, but you're so bloody useful for fixing my hair and spots." Al yawned. "All right, then?"

"Yeah."

Scorpius waited a while, then slipped out of bed and through the door. He didn't know if Al had fallen asleep yet, but if he was still awake he didn't say anything. In the hall, there was a light under the elder Potters' door, and he could hear the faint murmur of voices coming from behind it. He picked his way carefully down the length of the hall and eased open James's door.

The room was empty, except for piles of dirty clothes and schoolbooks. James's bed was still in the tangle they'd left that morning. Scorpius sat on its edge. It creaked faintly. He wished he was better at this, that someone could tell him what to do, or at least why he was the way he was, and always had to react so badly to everything.

He watched the hands of the clock on the wall move around its face. Half an hour passed before he lay down, putting his head on James's lumpy pillow, and another hour ticked by after that before he heard the doorknob turn.

"What are you doing here?" James asked.

“Waiting for you."

James sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm too bloody baked to deal with this."

Scorpius wondered why he'd come at all, why he'd ever thought this was a good idea. He slid out of bed; but James stepped towards him, and caught him around the waist. Scorpius looked at him. He'd grown since the end of term, so he didn't have to look up quite as far, to see into James's eyes. His pupils were dilated and he smelled like the Muggle weed he and Ira smoked sometimes.

"Get back in bed," James told him, and Scorpius went. James took off his clothes and followed. They lay there in the dark, then James sighed and pulled him into his chest. "Go to sleep, you bloody arse."

Somewhat to his surprise, he did.  
  


When someone knocked on the door the next morning, James sat bolt upright and swore. "Into the wardrobe, into the wardrobe," he hissed.

Scorpius rolled out of bed and stumbled over to the wardrobe, still half asleep.

"James, have you seen Scorpius anywhere?" Mr. Potter's voice called from the hall.

"Er, no," James responded as Scorpius was pulling the wardrobe doors shut behind him. It was a tight fit, especially as James had all his clothes piled up in the bottom instead of hung properly, but he managed it.

"I'm coming in, all right?"

"Um, yeah." James sounded moderately panicked. Scorpius winced.

There was a pause, and the sound of the door opening. Mr. Potter snorted. "From the way you sounded I half thought I'd find a girl in here."

"No girls," James said. "Definitely no girls here."

Shut up shut up, Scorpius thought at him with all his might. He's the Head Auror, he can sense your dissembling ways!

"Well, you ought to be up anyway. Breakfast will be on in ten."

"Yeah, yeah." There was a pause. "Scorp might be outside. He went flying, morning before last."

Scorpius wondered how James knew that. But then Mr. Potter's footsteps were receding, and the door was shutting behind him.

James yanked the wardrobe doors open. "Out the window," he said.

"Out the what?"

"The window. Didn't you notice the bloody trellis?"

"I haven't got any clothes."

James used some language that was rather strong, even for him. "Stay here," he said, then crept out the door. Scorpius stayed, as he didn't have anywhere else to go, until James came back with a pair of his jeans and a t-shirt.

Scorpius wiggled into them, and out the window he went. The trellis was covered in climbing roses, which gave the back of the Potter house quite a picturesque aspect, but did not suit themselves to human contact. Finally, though, he was down, where he ducked around the side of the house and took a moment to compose himself, before strolling back out to the kitchen door.

"Morning all," he said. Everyone was at the table, except for James; but that was a blessing, as Scorpius honestly didn't know what he would have done if he'd had to look him in the face at this particular moment.

"Where were you?" Al asked.

"Went for a walk, why?"

Al frowned. "You look...scratched."

"Tripped into a dog rose," he said, smiling pleasantly. "It bit."

Mrs. Potter frowned. "Blast, I thought we'd trained all the local ones out of that. Where was it? I can pay it a visit later."

Scorpius was saved from answering by James's arrival, which was simultaneously loud and sullen enough to capture all attention. Scorpius sat at the table and resisted the urge to heave a sigh, at least until James and Lily started snapping at each other, and he judged it safe; but in the end that wasn't safe at all, as he caught Mr. Potter looking at him with a bemused expression.

Scorpius did not sigh again, and looked down at his toast.  
  


It was a Saturday, which meant that Mr. Potter was home for the day. He and Mrs. Potter retired to the living room, leaving everyone else to clean up the kitchen. This was quite an experience for Scorpius, as he'd never cleaned anything without magic in his life.

"But--"

"Don't bother," Lily sighed. "They don't care that they could do it in about a second flat. It's supposed to give us moral fiber."

"I see," Scorpius said, although he didn't. She handed him a blue dish towel. He dried a plate, experimentally, then another, as that seemed to be expected.  
  


The rest of the day passed in Quidditch, with Mr. Potter playing a very determined Keeper and Mr. Weasley (the Weasley-Granger one) an equally determined Chaser; lunch at the Burrow, with Mrs. Weasley (the old one) comprehensively ignoring him and James feeling him up under the table; resultant hand jobs in the upstairs loo; and gnome-chasing with the extended Weasley brood.

"This is like a parallel universe," he told Al, when they were all walking back to the Potter House.

"Why d'you say?"

"It's--" He stopped. "Not what my holidays are like."

"Yeah, well." Al sighed. "Every family can't be this bloody mental, can they?"

"Language, Albus Severus," Mrs. Potter called from the back.

"Yes Mum." Al made a face. "Were you going to say something, Scorpius?"

If he had been, the moment was gone.

At the house, Scorpius headed for the living room and A Practicum. He still hadn't got past the first chapter. Al and Bridget settled onto the other end of the sofa and started gazing intently at each other. James thudded upstairs, then back down with Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests...Exhumed and Explained!

Scorpius shut his mouth and directed his eyes back towards Section XI, Hexes Moste Hellish. Al was not so dignified.

" _What_ is _that_?" he squawked.

"A book," James answered mulishly, sitting in the squashy armchair by the fireplace.

"A book," Al echoed.

"I do know how to read," James said, which Scorpius didn't think much helped his case.

"I just." Al stopped. "I--" He stopped again. "You--it's sunny outside. A book?"

"He needs the NEWTs if he's going to be an Auror, doesn't he?" Bridget said to Al. "And he certainly needs the help."

Scorpius focused very intently on Section XI. James banged Exhumed and Explained down on the coffee table, stormed out, stormed back in, picked it up, then slammed out through the kitchen. Scorpius dropped A Practicum--at this point he might as well give up--and followed him. Mr. and Mrs. Potter were in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. Mr. Potter raised his eyebrows. Scorpius did not blush, and shut the door behind him rather quieter than James had done.

James was pacing underneath the willow.

"Hey," Scorpius said.

"She's--" He didn't know if he'd ever seen James at a loss for words before. "I fucking hate her."

"She's rather awful," Scorpius allowed.

"Rather awful." James snorted. "She's a bloody stuck-up elitist whore."

"Elitist?"

"Yeah, means she--" James groaned. "You bloody know what it means."

"I do. Didn't know you did," Scorpius said, trying for a smile, but it was the wrong joke; James's face got even darker and the fronds of the willow started to stir.

"Even you think I'm stupid, is that it?"

"No." Scorpius reached out and touched James's wrist. "It was the wrong thing to say," he said, because it had been. "I didn't mean that. You know I'm no good at jokes."

"Fine." James folded onto the ground with a sigh. After a second, Scorpius followed. They watched the river move past the curtain of the willow fronds.

"I can help you study, if you like," he offered, because as much as James might hate Bridget, that wasn't what this was about.

"I'm really not as bad off as everyone says I am."

"I know."

"I just don't like class much."

"I know."

James leaned his head on Scorpius's shoulder. "Thanks."

"It's nothing," Scorpius answered, although it was.

They sat there for a while longer, not talking.    

"Want to get started?" Scorpius asked, when the sun had started to move lower in the sky.

"Mm. No." James nuzzled into his neck.

He elbowed him, then stood and pulled him up. "NEWTs now. Maybe something else--later."

James groaned. "This is the worst thing you've ever done to me."

"Not hardly," Scorpius pointed out.

They went back inside. Mr. Potter was still in the kitchen, although he had a beer now, instead of a cup of tea. He asked if they'd rather have pork chops or chicken breasts for dinner.

"This mean you're cooking, then?" James asked.

Mr. Potter nodded. James whooped, rather loudly, causing Mr. Potter to wince and tell him to quiet down.

"Pork chops, you're the greatest, call us when it's ready," James said, then hauled Scorpius up the stairs to his room.

"What was that all about?" Scorpius asked, clearing all of the clutter off of James's desk.

"Dad's way better at cooking than Mum. 'S just he doesn't have time to, much, cause he's so busy."

 "Oh." Scorpius attempted to imagine The Great Harry Potter cooking pork chops, or mashing potatoes, or doing other house elfish tasks, and failed.

"Yeah, who'd think, right?" James frowned down at his desk. "You know, I forgot what this thing looked like without all the stuff on it."

"Merlin help us," Scorpius said.

James grinned, with a cheeky flash of teeth, and kissed his temple. "I'll go grab Lil's extra chair, all right?"

Scorpius elbowed at him, but missed. He sat down and examined _Exhumed and Explained_ 's index.

"There's someone outside the front gate," James announced when he came back in, lugging a chair done in sparkly purple paint. "You want this one?"

"Purple's not my best color." Scorpius flipped to the introduction to the format of the tests.

"Fine." James turned the chair around backward and flopped onto it, resting his chin on its back to peer down at the book. "Is this going to be as fucking awful as I think it's going to be?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Probably."

"Great."

They started working through the first chapter. James frequently said things like, "Is this really bloody necessary?" which Scorpius countered with "If you don't understand the instructions, it doesn't matter how much magic you know." James also heaved a lot of put-upon sighs.

They were on Subsection 11, Pertaining to Potions, when Mr. Potter called up the stairs, "Scorpius, I think you'd better come here."

James perked up. "Dinner ready?" he yelled back.

"No," Mr. Potter answered, sounding slightly--strained.

Scorpius frowned. "I'll be back in a minute. Don't you dare slack off."

"Of course not, _Professor_."

He rolled his eyes, headed downstairs, and then stopped dead. His father and Mr. Potter were standing in the middle of the kitchen. Mr. Potter, he noticed, was wearing an orange Cannons apron.

His father was wearing his characteristic black robes. "So," he said, voice tight, "this is where you've been?"

"Er," Scorpius said. Then, "Yes."

His father rubbed at his eyes. "I have no idea what to say."

Scorpius raised an eyebrow.

"Get your things," he said, sounding tired.

Scorpius opened his mouth.

"Now," his father ordered.

He shut it, turned for the stairs, and then turned back around. "Did it really take you and Mother four days to notice I was gone?"

Mr. Potter, over by the stove, winced. Scorpius's father scowled. "Get your things."

That was when James came thundering down the stairs, because that was the kind of thing that happened in Scorpius Malfoy's life. At least Al was gone, holding hands with Bridget or whatever. "When's dinner going--oh."

"Yes," Father said. "Oh."

James narrowed his eyes. Scorpius shoved him out of the kitchen, and pulled him up to Al's room. He started throwing clothes into his case, completely unable to speak.

"So you," James said, from Al's bed. He was frowning. "You didn't--ask your parents before you came?"

"No." Scorpius balled up a t-shirt and crammed it in, unable to even think about folding it properly.

"Why not?"

He shut his eyes. "I--"

But to be honest, he didn't know. Maybe part of him _had_ wanted to see how long it would take them. Maybe part of him had been afraid one of them would say no. And maybe the rest of him just hadn't cared.

"C'mere," James said.

Scorpius went. He sat on James's lap, and looked down at him: his big hazel eyes, the freckles over the bridge of his nose, his familiar lips. Right now, he looked--worried, Scorpius thought; although he wasn't sure, as he didn't know that he'd ever seen that expression on James's face before.

"Things really that bad?" he asked.

Scorpius considered, then answered that yes, he thought so.

"Then you shouldn't go," James said, with his ironclad Potter certainty.

Footsteps came up the stairs. Scorpius, for a mad second, considered not getting off James's lap, but then his sanity reasserted itself, and he rolled off.

It was his father.

"I'd like a word with my son," he informed James, not looking at Scorpius.

James tensed. Scorpius touched his elbow. "It's okay."

"Fine," James said through gritted teeth. "I'll be downstairs." He slunk out.

Father rubbed his eyes again, and shut the door with a flick of his wand. He looked, Scorpius noticed, extremely tired. "So that's Al?" he said after a while.

"No, that's James." Scorpius hadn't even realized his father knew he was friends with Al.

Silence descended. Which was basically what Scorpius was used to. He sighed. "I'll finish packing, then."

"Potter has invited us to stay for dinner," Father said, sounding as though he'd rather cuddle a hippogriff.

"Don't feel obligated or anything."

"Believe me, I don't."

Scorpius shoved a pair of socks into his case. "Are we going then?"

"If you would like to stay for dinner," he said after a long pause, biting out each word as though it was causing him physical pain, "we can stay for dinner."

Scorpius laughed. "I have no interest in watching you try to play nice."

"Fine," Father snapped. "Get your things."

"I _am_." He zipped the lid shut, and stood.

"I just," Father said, reaching for the door, "don't understand why you couldn't have _asked_ before you came."

Scorpius chewed on his bottom lip. "Maybe I'm not used to getting what I ask for."

His father turned back to face him. "Is there anything in your life you've ever wanted for?"

Family, he wanted very much to say. A mother and a father to laugh and cook dinner wearing Chudley Cannons aprons, and cousins to play Quidditch with. He didn't say anything, but some of it must have shown on his face.

His father sighed again and scrubbed at his eyes. "Why don't we stay for dinner. I'll go down and tell Potter."

Scorpius sat back down on Al's bed. James reappeared shortly after Father had disappeared. "Staying then?"

"Looks like it."

"Dad's still cooking, want to shag? I can't stand the thought of being down there, he and your dad look like a pair of nervous Kneazles."

Scorpius snorted. "Really? You're asking for a shag right now?"

James grinned. "Take your mind off things."

It did, actually, take his mind off things quite nicely. And there was the added bonus that he sat down to dinner with his father, while he could still taste a Potter’s come on the back of his tongue. He was starting to see what James enjoyed about the whole “rebellion” thing.

Dinner itself was horrifically, mind-bendingly awkward. The elder Potters and his father made stiff, polite conversation about mutual acquaintances and uncontroversial Ministry initiatives, punctuated by long pauses where everyone stared at their plates and tried to wandlessly Apparate. James hooked their ankles together under the table, which, along with the quiet support in Al’s green eyes, got him through dinner.

After dinner, Scorpius went back upstairs to finish packing. Al and James both followed him, which was outright shocking from James. Evidently he thought he was the only one in the world permitted to make Scorpius miserable.

“I can’t believe you didn’t ask before you came,” Al said once they were safely behind his door.

“Why should he?” James snapped. He was pacing like a chained dragon.

“Because they’re his _parents_?”

Scorpius shrugged and stuffed the last of his t-shirts into his case.

“What were you _thinking_?” Al asked him.

He shrugged again.

“Come on, this isn’t like you.”

“I just wanted to--” Scorpius paused. “Get out.”

“But you couldn’t have _asked_ first?”

“Shut up, Al,” James said.

“It’s just not like you to do something like this!”

“Yeah, okay,” Scorpius sighed. Al sounded like Professor McGonagall, which was not his best look. “But I’ve got to go now, so it doesn’t matter.”

“You should stay,” James said.

“James, what the fuck?” Al squawked.

“I can’t,” Scorpius answered.

“I know Dad wouldn’t let them make you go. If you really had a reason.” He looked all--earnest, and his hazel eyes held enough warmth and worry to make Scorpius’s stomach a flip.

“What is even happening right now,” Al moaned. “I knew you were mental, James, but--”

“It’s okay,” Scorpius said.

“It’s not okay,” James growled back.

“It will be,” Scorpius repeated. “I’ll see you at Hogwarts. Both of you.”

“Scorp--” Al started.

“Don’t, okay?” James said.

“Don’t tell me what to do!”

“Can both of you just stop,” Scorpius said. “I have to go,” because he did and there was no way around it.

 

His father Side-Alonged him to the Manor. It was the first time Scorpius had ever Apparated. His knees hit the garden grass, and he started heaving up what little of Mr. Potter’s pork chops he’d been able to eat.

Father took a step back. Scorpius stared at the toes of his black dragonhide shoes. They were shiny, as always; he imagined he could see his reflection, if he got close enough.

“Are you finished?”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t talk like a Potter.”

Scorpius hissed out a _yes_.

“Give me your wand,” his father ordered.

Scorpius felt his fingers tighten over it, reflexively.

“ _Now_ , Scorpius. And get up. You look like a groveling house-elf.”

“I’m not groveling,” he bit out.

“ _Your wand_ ,” his father snarled.

Scorpius wondered what would happen if he threw it at his father’s head. But then that would be excessively juvenile. He’d been spending too much time with James and his ankle-biting cousins. So he turned it over, because again, there was nothing else he could do.

“Go to your room. Your mother and I have not yet determined a suitable punishment.”

Scorpius tossed his hair and rose to his feet. “So now you want to be a parent?”

“What did you say to me?” his father asked, nasal voice almost dangerous.

But instead of answering, Scorpius walked away. From the grass to one of the gravel paths, past the reflecting pool, up the broad stair and over the terrace. The glass garden doors swung open without a touch, and then slammed shut behind him so hard that four of their diamond-shaped panes cracked, and one shattered, spilling little star-like shards across the marble floor. It was, Scorpius realized, the first wandless magic he’d ever done.

Little difference that made.

Inside his room, Scorpius didn’t know what to do. His case was already on the bed, thanks to some invisible elf. He could feel the blue-papered walls pressing in around his ears, the ceiling down onto his head. It was cold, like it always was in Malfoy Manor, even on the hottest days of summer. He couldn’t imagine a place more different from the whitewashed Potter House.

 

No one came in for the rest of the night. Not his father, not a house-elf. Someone knocked on the door, and when he opened it there was a plate of food hovering in mid-air, but no one in sight.

The utter absence of living creatures (except the peacocks screaming out in the garden) made him wonder what had happened to Twinky. He didn’t think his mother would give her clothes, as she knew too much about the family to be allowed her freedom--but she wouldn’t go unpunished. He thought of the house-elf heads James had said were nailed to the walls of Grimmauld Place, and felt too ill to touch the chicken and potatoes that had settled themselves on his desk.

Instead he opened the window and threw the plate outside. It hit the marble terrace two stories below with a satisfying crash. He thought someone had told him once that the china pattern had been a gift to some ancestral Malfoy from Elfrida Clagg, but he was neither certain, nor did he care; and it had a revolting border of snakes twined in tuberoses anyway.

After a while he got tired of pacing and lay down on his bed. The coverlet was a heavy down confection, covered in silver embroidery, but it smelled of disuse. There was nothing for him to do but lie there, and wait for morning.

 

Morning brought his mother. She appeared in his doorway with her hair spun up in a twist, navy blue robes swirling around her ankles. She dangled his wand from between two fingers, and he thought of her face at the breakfast table, of the frown of displeasure she’d worn at his intransigence.

“This is unacceptable,” she informed him in Italian.

“And?” he answered, in English, because she hated hearing him speak it.

Her lips, painted a poisonously bright coral, pursed themselves into an expression of something like pleasure. “You will be spending the rest of the summer,” they said, “at the lake. I will keep this,” and she gave his wand a little twirl. Three anemic green sparks drifted from its tip to the carpet, where they left smoking holes.

It was, Scorpius realized, about the worst thing she could have done to him. She couldn’t forbid him from returning to Hogwarts, or snapped his wand; that might make for unpleasant conversation with the Italian Minister, with whom he thought she was having an affair.

Instead, he would go to the lake, and Adalberto’s tender mercies.

 

During the rest of the summer, Scorpius learned the villa’s grounds like the back of his hand: the climbable trees, the hollow boxwoods, the crawl space underneath the roof of the boathouse. Adalberto, though talented with his little fire spells, was not particularly good at finding him; and given the choice of hunting Scorpius through the spider-webbed shrubbery, or flirting with _senza-luci_ girls down on the promenade, he would pick the tourists in bikinis every time.

So, while it was punctuated with occasional bouts of rolling around on the ground screaming in agony, Scorpius’s time at the lake could have been a lot worse. All things told. Even though it was awful, and he missed Al and he missed sneaking into James’s room, and the way the crook of his neck would smell like skin and sleep.


End file.
